


Secrets of Omission

by allonym



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternative Perspective, And all the warnings that implies, Canon-Typical Behavior, Episode: s03e11 ...And the Beast from the Sea, Gen, Hannigram is the main romantic pairing but it's mostly a gen fic, Let me know if I'm missing any tags, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, References to off-screen teenage sex, Walter's Story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:41:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21601627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allonym/pseuds/allonym
Summary: Walter’s mom tells him that his dad went down a dark path where they couldn’t follow. Walter might’ve left it at that, but then Winston disappears, and Walter decides enough is enough.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 5
Kudos: 39





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Great and Gruesome Height](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4686710) by [mokuyoubi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mokuyoubi/pseuds/mokuyoubi). 



> This story starts with Walter's POV of Season 3 Episode 11 "...And the Beast of the Sea" and then continues for several years past the season finale. Will and Hannibal's off-screen murder husbands antics are based on mokuyoubi's _A Great and Gruesome Height _. It's basically backstory, so you don't have to read that fic to follow this one, but you should anyway because it's awesome.__

The final adoption papers are waiting with the rest of the mail when they return home from the vet. His mom pulls the tab to rip open the large flat envelope and pulls the documents out, showing him his new name.  _ Walter Edward Graham. _

“Let’s wait till your dad gets home to tell him the good news,” she says. “We can celebrate when he gets back.”

“Another secret?” Keeping secrets is a bad thing, except when it isn’t. Like the dogs getting sick. Or the news article Tommy showed him about Will being in a mental hospital. Is that a secret from his mom, or does she already know? He kind of wishes Tommy had kept it secret from him.

“A happy secret, this time,” she says. 

He nods automatically. He  _ had _ been happy with Will becoming his official dad. He never had that before, not that he could remember. His bio dad died when he was a baby. Having Will move into that slot seemed like a good thing, like super glue, holding them all together in the shape of a normal family.

Of course that was before the news had gotten around school that his new dad had killed someone and ended up in a mental hospital. What’s it like to kill someone? He probably shouldn’t even think about that.  _ He _ doesn’t want to end up in a mental hospital. 

His mom looks at him and bites her lip. Her concern is like a stick, poking at him. He ducks his head from her gaze. 

“It’s quiet without the dogs here,” he says.

She stiffens with guilt, which stops the poking, so that’s okay. “Yeah, it will be good to get them back tomorrow. Come on, kiddo, help me throw out that Chinese dog food and then we can figure out dinner.”

It’s too late to go fishing like they planned, so she pulls out some frozen venison steaks. Their neighbor Mr. Bob brought them by the other day. He also offered to take Walter hunting next year on Youth Deer Weekend. Mom wasn’t so sure, but Will said that he thought it would be okay. Will wasn’t a hunter himself but he didn’t object to hunting in general. Maybe he could come too, just to watch.

His mom is distracted during dinner. Walter wonders if Will is close to catching the bad guy and coming home. He thinks about calling him, but then remembers the secrets. The sick dogs. The adoption papers. All he has to do is keep his mouth shut to keep the secrets. He doesn’t have to lie. But if he calls Will, will he really be able to keep his mouth shut? Trying to speak over the hidden secrets seems impossible. Better not to try.

At bedtime his mom is still distracted, fussing around the house, double checking the doors and windows. She tucks Walter into bed, something she hasn’t done since he was little, and puts his boots right beside the bed, and a jacket on the chair. Walter stares at her, confused.

“Just in case, baby,” she says.

“In case of what?”

“In case of trouble.” Her mouth is smiling but her eyes are grim. He wants to know what sort of trouble she’s worried about, but he knows she won’t tell him. Another secret. It’s a long time before he falls asleep. It feels like he’s barely shuts his eyes when his mom is there, shaking him awake with a finger to her lips.

Trouble has come. His heart pounds as she guides him into his boots and jacket, and then unlocks his window and helps him up to the sill.

“Wait for me by the car,” she whispers urgently. “Count to one hundred. If you see anyone else but me, run for the road.”

Anyone else but her. Which means a bad guy is in the house, and might try to get him. He hurries to the car and hides behind it, huddled against the tire, and starts counting. The night is so quiet. He strains his ears toward the house as the numbers fall quietly out of his mouth.

“31, 32, 33, 34…”

How long would it take for his mom to come to him? Or made he needs to come to her? He peeks under the car and spots her crouching under the porch. She tosses something into the woods behind her, away from the car, and the thud of heavy footsteps on the deck breaks the silence. The bad guy is right there, right there on the porch above his mom. At her frantic gestures he runs over to her, until they are both directly underneath the bad guy. A rush of fear so intense that it feels almost like joy hits Walter. Her arms clutch around him and he just wants to stay there, safe. But they aren’t safe, not even a little. She pulls away and holds out his coat. He fumbles into it, pulls on his hat and gets ready to run. His mom sets off the car alarm with the remote and then they’re off, running away from the car and into the woods, towards the road. 

How long until bad guy figures out where they went? Walter starts counting again, under his breath this time, as they wait in the brush for a car to drive by. Then headlights approach and his mom jumps up. He tries to follow, but she urges him back into the shadows. She’s right there in front of the car waving her arms and oh no it’s going to hit her but it skids to a stop and she calls for him to come to her and the driver gets out to yell he’s so  _ stupid _ couldn’t he see they are in real trouble and his mom shoves Walter into the back seat and tells him to get down and he cowers into the space behind the seats and there is a crack and glass showers onto his back and that’s gun fire, it didn’t sound like gun fire, it’s too quiet but it has to be a gun and the car is finally moving and there are more cracks and a thump right above him but they are moving faster and faster and they are getting away.

“Wally? Are you okay baby?”

He doesn’t correct her, doesn’t tell her that he’s called Walter now. Doesn’t tell her he isn’t a baby. Instead he stays curled up in a ball behind the seat. Is he okay?

“Walter, answer me. Are you hurt?” Her voice is high and sharp with fear.

“No,” he croaks, not recognizing his own voice. “Not hurt.”

“Oh thank god,” she says, but her voice is still strained. “I’m going to drive us to the gas station. I’m going to need you to go inside the store and tell them to call the police, and ask for an ambulance.”

But he isn’t hurt. Which means…

“Are  _ you _ hurt, Mom?” He sits up then, tiny squares of broken glass falling off him as he looks over the back of the seat at her. She is driving fast with one hand on the wheel, and is breathing hard.

“Get back down! We’ll be there soon, baby. I’ll be alright.”

He tries sitting on the backseat, and then slides down into the space on the floor behind his mom. The back of her seat has a tear in the upholstery. His stomach drops. That is a bullet hole. A bullet must’ve gone through his mom.

“Mom, we need to put pressure on your wound.” He thinks about what his first aid badge instructor taught them. Control the bleeding and call for help. He needs a clean cloth.

“I know honey. As soon as we’re safe. We’ll be there soon.”

He looks up between the seat at the darkness just beyond the headlights. The car jerks and then straightens.

“Mom!:

“Almost there, almost there,” she mutters. They are going too fast around the curve and Walter slides to the side, pressing against the door. Seat belt, he needs his seat belt. But he doesn’t want to climb up on the seat, doesn’t want to sit in the broken glass. He hunkers down instead and squeezes his eyes shut.

Time passes in a bubble. He focuses on the darkness behind his eyes, and the movement of the car. His mom is breathing hard, the sound harsh over the hum of the engine. He sways again as the car makes a sharp turn, and then opens his eyes. They’ve stopped. He looks between the seats to see the light of the convenience store pour in through the windshield.

“Run inside, Wally,” his mom says through gritted teeth. “Run inside quick and have them call for help, and then move to the back of the store and hide, away from the windows.”

With a jolt he realizes she’s worried about the bad guy following them here. But she needs help. She needs help right now. He fumbles at the door handle and jumps out of the car, taking a moment to steady himself before running to the store entrance. There’s a young guy behind the counter reading a book. The bell jangles as Walter pulls the door open, but the guy doesn’t look up.

“Help!” he cries. “Call 9-1-1! My mom’s been shot!”

The guy blinks stupidly.

“9-1-1. Dial it now!” Walter is screaming, but it’s like someone else. It’s like watching a movie. Finally,  _ finally _ the guy starts moving, reaching for the phone. Walter looks around and spots a rack of Vermont-themed T-shirts next to a carousel of sunglasses. He grabs one that shows a moose paddling a canoe and runs outside, back to the car. His mom’s eyes are closed, her head leaning back. He pulls open her car door.

Her eyes open blearily, and then widen when she sees him. In the light from the storefront he can see a hole in her jacket, at the shoulder.

“Go. Inside.” Her voice is weak.

He ignores her, and instead leans over to push aside the edge of her jacket. There is a dark stain on her shirt, about the size of his palm. He presses the folded T-shirt against it and pushes down. She cries out in pain.

“Hold on, mom. Help is coming. Just hold on.”

“Wally. Inside,” she chokes out.

“I’m not leaving you, mom. Just hang on.”

To his relief, he soon hears the faint sound of a siren. She must have heard it too, because she relaxes. He keeps pressing against her shoulder. The ambulance pulls up beside him. The red and while flashing lights dance across the dashboard.

“What do we got here?” It is a woman’s voice, no-nonsense. The light from a flashlight shines past Walter’s shoulder, into the interior of the car, and then onto the back of Walter’s hands as he presses down.

“It’s my mom. She was shot through the shoulder. It came through the back of the seat. I’m putting pressure on it.”

“That’s good, kid. You’re doing good. Now stand back and let me take over. We’ll take good care of her.”

Reluctantly he backs away. The store clerk stands on the sidewalk in front of the store, watching the EMT’s work.

“Dude, this is so messed up. What happened?”

Walter just shakes his head. The whole night feels like a dream, like a nightmare. A police car pulls up, blue lights flashing but no siren. A heavy-set uniformed officer climbs out of the car and exchanges a few words with the EMT’s, who are loading his mom onto a stretcher. The policeman circles around the car, surveying the damage, and then comes over to where they were standing.

“Reggie, what exactly happened here?” he asks, looking at the store clerk.

“I’m not sure, man. This little dude came running in, yelling that his mom had been shot and to call 9-1-1. That’s all I know.”

The officer looks at Walter, and then crouches down a little. His mustache is streaked with grey and his eyes are kind.

“Hello, my name is Officer Mike. What’s your name, son?” he asks softly.

“Walter. Walter Foster, um, actually it’s Walter Graham now.” He thinks about the adoption papers, sitting in the kitchen. Would the bad guy see them? Would he take them?

“Walter, that’s a great name. Can you tell me what happened to your mom?”

“The bad guy shot her, while we were trying to get away. He came into the house, and she snuck me out the window. He shot up the car so we ran for the road. She flagged down another car for help. The bad guy shot at us when we were driving away.”

Officer Mike looks over at the car, and then turns back to him.

“Did you see the bad man? Do you know who he is?”

Walter shakes his head. “I didn’t see him. But it might be the bad guy that my dad is chasing. My dad works with the F.B.I. He’s trying to catch the Tooth Fairy.”

Walter feels his stomach clench, as if saying the name would summon the man. He looks down the empty road. “I think my mom’s worried he might still be chasing us.”

Officer Mike is very alarmed at that. “Okay, kid, I need you to get into my cruiser right now. We’ll follow the ambulance to the hospital, and I’ll make sure you and your mom stay safe. Reggie, go inside the store and lock it up. Put up the closed sign and turn out the lights until the state police arrive. They should be here in the next fifteen minutes or so. Don’t touch the car.”

“Fuck, man!” said Reggie, but Officer Mike doesn’t react to the curse word. He shepherds Walter to his car and opens the passenger door, indicating Walter should sit up front. Walter buckles himself in, and watches as his mom is loaded into the back of the ambulance, and Reggie goes inside the store.

The ambulance speeds off, siren blaring, and they follow closely behind.

“Is my mom going to be okay?”

“Our EMT folks are the best in the country. They’re taking very good care of her.”

Which isn’t really an answer, but he couldn’t blame Officer Mike for that.

Officer Mike speaks on. “So Walter, do you know what happened to the driver?”

“The driver?”

“Of the car you were in. That your mom stopped for help.”

“Oh,” he says, blinking. He hadn’t even thought about that. “He got out of the car, and my mom made me get in and hide on the floor. I didn’t see what happened after that but I could hear gunshots. The glass broke and fell on me.”

“And this happened near your house? What’s your address?”

Walter tells him, and Officer Mike picks up his radio.

“Dispatcher, this is unit 527. Please be advised of a 10-35. Shots reported at 3770 Braeloch Lane, possible 10-41 at road nearby. Subject still at large. Notify state police and F.B.I.”

“Copy, Unit 527.”

“Unit 527 out.”

Soon they’re on the highway, and are joined by other cars. Walter starts to relax a little. Maybe they had outrun the bad guy. The sky is growing light as they pull into the hospital. Two men in suits wait out front, with badges at their waists. 

“Okay, kid. These are detective Perkins and Vaughn. They’ll look after you until your dad gets here. We’ll also have some uniformed officers standing guard, just in case. Okay?”

Walter nods. “Thank you for your help.”

“Just doing my job. You did great, Walter. You should be very proud.” Officer Mike ruffles his hair and leaves.

The detectives lead him to a little waiting room and began asking questions. He tells them about the F.B.I. guy coming to the house, and how Will is helping catch the Tooth Fairy. Once more he explains what had happened at the house. The detectives want a lot more details than Office Mike. He explains about the dogs getting sick, and it occurs to him that it wasn’t a coincidence that they were sent to the vet just before the attack. It wasn’t pet food from China. They must’ve been deliberately poisoned. The sick fear in his stomach turns into a hot flush of anger. The anger feels good.

A uniformed officer interrupts. “They found his dad. He’s on the way from D.C. So are a bunch of other feds.”

The detectives nods and continues. Walter answers as best he can until finally they ran out of questions.

“Alright Walter, you’ve been doing great,” says Detective Vaughn. Or maybe it’s Detective Perkins. They are both middle-aged brown haired white men, so it’s easy to confuse them. “You’re dad should be here soon. Do you want us to find a nurse or someone to sit with you? We’ll leave the uniformed officers to protect you.”

Walter just shrugs, and pretty soon a lady wearing scrubs with cartoon animals is there. She’s carrying a blueberry muffin and a squeeze box of orange juice.

“My name’s Marise,” she says. “I thought you might be getting hungry.”

As soon as she said it, Walter’s stomach complains loudly.

“Thanks,” he said, accepting the muffin and taking a long drink of the orange juice. “How’s my mom doing? Can I see her?”

“They’re prepping her for surgery right now, so no visitors. She lost a lot of blood, but they’ve gotten her stabilized. It looks like she’ll pull through okay and the doctors should be able to fix her arm. I understand that you may have saved her life. Sadie said that you managed to slow the bleeding until they took over.”

He shrugs. “I’m in the boy scouts. We learned about first aid.”

“But still, you kept your cool. Not everyone can do that. You should be proud.”

He doesn’t feel proud. He mostly feels angry. 

“Do you want to lie down? I can get you a pillow and blankets. It’s going to be a few hours before your dad gets here.”

He doesn’t feel sleepy, but the idea of closing his eyes and pulling a blanket over his head sounds good. Soon he’s stretched out across a small couch with a pillow under his head. Marise spreads a warmed blanket over him; it feels wonderful.

“We have a special warming oven for them; it helps with shock. Rest well, Walter. I’ll wake you if there’s any news.”

Walter closes his eyes. He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but soon a hand on his shoulder shakes him awake. It’s that old African American guy, the one who had come to the house. 

“Hey, champ. I’m sorry to wake you, but we need to have a chat before your dad gets here. You remember me?”

Walter sits up and rubs his eyes. “Yeah, you’re the man who came to the house to take my dad away. To hunt that crazy guy. Who is probably the same guy who came after us.”

“Jack Crawford. And yeah, it looks like it’s the same guy. We found carving on one of the trees on your property. It looks like this. Did you notice it?”

Mr. Crawford shows him a photo of a crooked rectangle with a slash through it. Walter shakes his head.

“Does this mean he was there the whole time? Watching us?”

“Scouting you.”

“And he came after us because of my dad?”

Mr Crawford sighs. “It looks like that. You know your dad’s very special, right?”

Walter shrugs. “I guess.”

“I think the Tooth Fairy’s afraid of him. He knows Will is going to help us catch him, but Will was too protected for the Tooth Fairy to get to him. So he went after you guys instead, thinking it would distract him from his job. I hope it doesn’t work. You guys are safe now, so I’m hoping Will will be back on the case soon.”

Mr. Crawford is smiling but in a fake way. Walter realizes that the agent is worried his dad will want to stay with them instead of going back to Washington. But if the F.B.I. doesn’t catch the guy, then they’ll never be safe. Walter nods at the unasked question. He won’t try to keep Will home.

He doesn’t feel much like talking anymore, and the Blue Jays game won’t start until one o’clock, so he grabs a kid’s magazine from the rack and starts flipping through it. Mr. Crawford doesn’t try to talk further, so that’s good. It’s maybe twenty minutes later before Will rushes in and sits awkwardly next to him. Mr. Crawford leaves them alone with the guards.

“Your mom is in surgery now.”

Will isn’t looking directly at him, but that’s normal. It’s just the way that he is. Walter wonders if maybe he’ll share more information about the situation than his boss.

“Is there anything else I should know, to see about mom?” Walter asks.

His dad is looking at him now, with earnest eyes. “You’re both safe here.”

That’s not what Walter asked. “This crazy guy wants to kill you?”

“No, well, we don’t know what he wants.”

Except for the fact that he wants Walter’s mom dead for some reason. “You gonna kill him?”

“No. I’m going to catch him. They’ll put him in a mental hospital so that they can treat him and keep him from hurting anybody else.”

Walter’s stomach drops. A mental hospital is the last place he wants this guy to go. Hospital’s were too easy to get out of. Which his dad should know, if he really had been in such a place.

“Tommy’s mom had this little newspaper article. Said you killed a guy and you were put in a mental hospital. Is it true?”

“Yes, Yes,” says Will, but offers no further explanation. “It bothers you, finding that out? Because I married your mom?”

Walter grits his teeth. As if  _ finding out _ was the worst part of the whole thing. He’d been happy when Will married his mom, because it made her so happy. They were like a picture-book couple. Will always seemed more interested in being a husband than being a father, even with the adoption going forward, but that was okay as long as Walter’s mom was happy. That’s why he’s always careful to call Will “dad,” because it makes his mom so very happy. 

But now she had almost died because she was married to Will.

“You shouldn’t put this guy in a mental hospital. You should kill him.” He glances at the clock and sees it's after one o’clock. “I want to watch baseball.”

He moves over to the TV and turns it on. Will leaves then, which is just as well. It’s what Walter wanted. Really.

* * * * *

The Jays lose, which sucks but is not surprising. Walter is flipping through channels to see what else was on when Will returns.

“Your mom’s awake,” he says. “The surgery went well. She wants to see you, but keep in mind she’ll get tired easy.”

TV forgotten, Walter follows to where his mom lay, connected to machines, with a big bandage around her shoulder. She looks so tired, but her smile is real. Something inside Walter loosens. She is holding out her hand, and he grabs for it.

“Here’s my hero,” she says. “I’m so proud of you, you were so brave.”

Walter opens his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He feels a hand on his shoulder and looks up to see Will smiling a real smile, too, although there’s a sadness lurking in his eyes.

“I’ll leave you two to chat. But remember about not tiring your mom out, okay?”

Walter nods and Will gives his shoulder a squeeze and leaves.

“So have they been feeding you?” she asks. “Did you get some rest?”

“Yeah, the nurse brought some food, and I took a nap. Then I watched the Jays lose.”

She sighs and ruffles his hair. “Well they call it a wild card playoff for a reason. I’m sorry.”

He shrugs. It wasn’t the worst thing that had happened today. “Mom, can I ask you a question? It’s kind of a touchy subject.”

“Of course. You can ask me anything.”

“Did you know about dad, when you married him? About the mental hospital and everything?”

She frowns, but not in a mad way. “How did this come up?”

“Tommy showed me this article.”

Now she looks mad. “Well you can’t believe everything you read. There’s this one reporter, named Freddie Lounds, who writes terrible lies.”

“But dad said that it was true. That he killed a man, and was in a mental hospital.”

“Yeah, that part’s true, but it’s a small part in very long and complicated story. I’ll explain it to you another day, but not right now. Don’t bother your dad about it, though. He’s suffered enough.”

“And you knew the story, and married him anyways?”

She is smiling again, but not at him. It’s that dopey smile she gets when she was thinking about Will, the one that made Walter glad that Will asked her to marry him.

“In part, I married him  _ because _ of his past, honey. The fact he went through that, and came out on the other side. We have a lot in common that way.”

Walter frowns in confusion. “But you haven’t killed anyone.”

The dopey smile runs off her face, and she squeezes his hand hard. His heart starts thumping.

“Mom? Did  _ you _ kill someone?” he asks. “Tell me.”

She takes a deep breath. “You know how I don’t like to talk about your birth father, honey?”

He nods. “You said he wasn’t a good person, and you would explain more when I was older.”

She sighs. “Yeah, I guess after last night you’re officially older. Is this really something you want to know right now?”

“Yes!” he says, a jolt of excitement humming through him like electricity. He’d almost given up hearing this story. His mom usually shuts down so completely when the subject comes up.

“Okay then,” she says, but then falls silent. She stares at him, but it's like she’s looking at something far away. He holds onto her hand and just waits. After what seems like forever, she continues.

“I was very young when I met your dad, just out of high school. I didn’t get along with my folks, and they kicked me out as soon as I turned eighteen.”

Walter frowns. He wants to ask more, but also doesn’t want to interrupt her now that she’s talking.

“Your birth father - his name was Walter, too, although he went by Walt - was the assistant manager at a restaurant where I was waiting tables. I was so flattered when he started flirting with me. He was older, of course, and handsome and charming. One thing led to another, and I got pregnant. With you.”

Her eyes were misty now, and she let go of his hand to brush her fingers through his hair. 

“You were the best thing that ever happened to me. You are still the best thing. But Walt changed after you were born. He became more controlling, and then abusive. Mostly name calling, but sometimes he hit me. He was always sorry afterwards, and was extra nice for a while. So I forgave him. I didn’t feel like I had a lot of choices back then. Plus, he was good with you. You were such a happy baby, and he loved spending time playing with you. I could forgive a lot, for that.”

He holds his breath, and then lets it out. “What happened?”

“You remember when you were really little, and had to have an inhaler for asthma?” At his nod she continues on. “Your birth father like to smoke, which is very bad for babies with asthma. I always made him smoke outside. But then one night I came home to find him passed out with a cigarette still smouldering on a plate next to him, and you in the playpen turning blue. If I’d been even a few minutes later you’d have been dead.”

Tears roll down her cheeks, and Walter wonders if he should tell her that she could stop talking. But he wants to hear what happened. Finally she goes on.

“I left you at the hospital and came home to find that Walt hadn’t even realized that you were gone. I was so mad. I started yelling at him, and he yelled back, and then started hitting me. He wouldn’t stop, so I grabbed a kitchen knife and stabbed him. He died pretty quickly.”

It feels like the world was frozen, that there’s nothing except the two of them here in this room.

“Did you have to go to a mental hospital?” he asks, 

She blinks, as if she’d forgotten he was there. “No baby, I didn’t. The police thought it was self-defense. I was fine.”

Walter frowns. “Wasn’t it self defense?”

She froze. “Oh god, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said all that. It must be the pain medication talking.”

“Mom! Please, tell me. I. . .I really need you to tell me the truth, now. No secrets. Please”

She takes a deep shuddering breath. “Okay, but this isn’t a story to share outside the family. Agreed?”

He nods, holding his breath.

“It was self-defense. Walt was hitting me. He could have hurt me badly, maybe even killed me. But I deliberately made him mad. I said the worst things I could think of, and I did it in the kitchen, standing next to the knife rack, on purpose. Because he almost killed you, baby, and refused to take responsibility. And I would do anything, anything, to protect you. You are my life, Walter.”

She’s crying hard now, and he’s crying too. He leans over her to hug her, careful of her bandages.

“It’s okay, mom. I love you. You did the right thing. Thanks for telling me.”

He grabs the box of tissues from the table beside her, and hands some to her. They blow their noses at the same time, and laugh.

“I love you, baby,” she says, her eyes drooping.

“Love you too, mom. Go ahead and sleep. I wasn’t supposed to make you tired. I’ll go find dad.”

She just smiles and closes her eyes.

Walter finds Will in the hallway. Will’s glance flicks over Walter’s face and then he looks away. He makes no comment about Walter crying.

“You hungry?” Will asks. “The cafeteria just opened for dinner.”

It had been a long time since the blueberry muffin, so Walter nods. Two guys in FBI windbreakers follow them silently as they grab some sandwiches and chips, and take them back to the waiting area.

“So the surgery was a success,” says Will, watching Walter eat, his own food untouched. “Your mom should be able to leave the hospital in a couple of days.”

“Will I stay here too?”

“No, some FBI agents will take you to a safe house. The dogs will be there. They’ve all recovered and will be happy to see you.”

Not as happy as Walter. He imagines burying his face in Winston’s ruff while the other dogs circle around him. Guarding him. It sounds like heaven.

“Are you leaving? To go after the bad guy?”

Will nods. “I’m going to have to leave to catch my flight pretty soon.”

“And if this bad guy attacks you, then you can kill him, right? Because it would be self-defense.”

Will’s eyes focus on Walter now, his gaze intense. After a long pause, he speaks.

“I have some dark things in my past, Walter. Things I don’t talk about. But I never, ever meant for those things to touch you, or your mom. Do you understand?”

“Yeah, I understand. But that doesn’t matter. Just make sure this guy can’t ever hurt mom or the dogs again, okay?”

Will is still looking right at him, and then his face shifts. It’s really weird, like a mannequin coming to life. Like Will hasn’t really been fully alive until that moment. His gaze is too much, it feels like standing in front of the whole class for an oral report. Walter squirms and looks away.

“I promise I will do whatever it takes to keep you guys safe,” Will says, and the words feel bigger than their sounds. “You need to promise me something, too, okay?”

“What is it?”

“Promise me you’ll always remember what a great kid you are. You are smart and strong and brave, and no matter what happens, you are going to be okay. Deal?”

“Deal,” he says, and is swept into a hug. They didn’t normally hug much, but it feels good to be held firmly in his dad’s arms. Like a promise being kept. 

Will kisses his forehead and stands up.

“Look after your mom,” he says, and leaves.

It will be seven and a half years before Walter sees him again.


	2. Chapter 2

Two days after Walter’s mom leaves the hospital, Jack Crawford shows up at their safe house. They’ve already seen the news about Hannibal Lecter’s escape and Francis Dohlarhyde’s death. Will Graham is officially missing, possibly kidnapped. The FBI guards refuse to say more. They’ll be told as soon as there is solid information.

By the look on Jack Crawford’s face, there’s now solid information, and it’s not good. The three of them sit down at the ridiculously large dining room table. Everything in the safe house is ridiculously large. It feels so empty. The FBI agents told him that dogs aren’t allowed in the house, so Walter spends most of his time playing with them in the fenced backyard until they’re all exhausted, or hanging out on the enclosed porch while they sleep. The porch is heated, and as big as their living room at home, so it’s no big deal. He likes it there better than in his oversized bedroom. He thinks about joining the dogs on the porch right now, but he doesn’t want to leave his mom alone with this man. She’s still fragile, with her face pale and tired, and her right arm in a sling.

“I’ve got some news. It’s confidential, so it doesn’t go outside this room, but since it could affect you both you need to hear it.”

His mom’s voice is tight. “Is he dead? Is Will dead?”

Mr. Crawford sighs. “No.” From his tone of voice, he doesn’t think this is a good thing. “Will was injured, fighting Dohlarhyde. We found his blood at the scene there. And based on the evidence, it looks like he and Dr. Lecter went over the edge of a cliff into the ocean after the fight. We thought for a while that they had drowned.”

His mom smacks her left palm onto the table. From the look on her face, Mr. Crawford should be happy that her right arm’s in the sling, because otherwise she’d be hitting him instead of the table.

“Just tell me, Jack. Spit it out.”

“Will and Hannibal are both alive, and traveling together. They paid a visit to Bedelia Du Maurier, Lecter’s psychiatrist.” He glances over at Walter, and does not say anything more. A sick sort of curiosity coils in Walter’s stomach.

“What happened to her? Is she dead?” he asks.

Mr. Crawford looks over at Walter’s mom, and then sighs. “No, not dead, but badly hurt. She refuses to talk about what happened, but fingerprints and other evidence show both Will and Hannibal were there. It’s possible, though, that Hannibal is controlling Will in some way. We’ll know when we catch up with them.”

“When will that be?” asks Walter, after his mom just sits there, staring into space.

“It could take awhile; there’s evidence they’ve left the country. It should be okay for you to go back to your house now. We don’t think they’ll be back. But we wanted to let you know the truth, just in case we’re wrong. If Will contacts you, if he shows up on your doorstep, don’t try to hold him, but let us know as soon as possible. Keep in mind he may no longer be the man you knew.”

Walter’s mom looks up sharply at this. “And will there be FBI agents there? At our house? Hoping to catch Will while you dangle me and my son as bait?”

“No. As I said, we don’t think they’ll be back. Did you know that Will emptied your joint bank accounts, and cashed out his federal retirement plan?”

For the first time, pain shows on his mother’s face. Pain and fear. “No, no I didn’t.”

Walter watches her with worry. Are they in money trouble? Will they have to leave the house? Get rid of the dogs? His mom has a good job at the UVM provost’s office, but he doesn’t know if it will be enough if Will took all their cash.

Mr. Crawford looks at them both silently for a minute, and then goes on. “Yes. Right after he traveled back to D.C., he moved all the savings and checking funds from your joint accounts to your old bank account, the one from before you were married. The one that’s just in your name. And he moved his retirement cash into a trust fund in Walter’s name. Plus we noticed that the house is in your name only. All in all, it doesn’t leave the government any leverage over his assets. And you say you didn’t know about this?”

“Go to hell, Jack. Go straight to hell.”

Walter’s mom isn’t supposed to talk like that. Such poisonous hatred doesn’t belong in her voice.

“You come to my home, you rip my family apart, you put me and my son in danger, and I get _shot,_ all because you are so fucking incompetent that you couldn’t catch this stupid Tooth Fairy killer yourself if he were standing right in front of you. Then you have the unmitigated gall to come here and insinuate that I knew my husband was planning to run off with a serial killer cannibal. Well, no, Jack, I did not know. Now get the hell out.”

Mr. Crawford doesn’t move at first, and then he reaches into his jacket and pulls out two cards. He hands one to Walter, who examines the FBI. logo and the contact information. His mom doesn’t reach for the other card, so Mr. Crawford sets it down on the table.

“This is my direct phone number. If you feel you’re in danger, call 9-1-1. Otherwise, call me.” He gets up and leaves without saying goodbye.

When the front door closes his mom lets out a shuddering breath. “Wally, I am so sorry you saw that. I shouldn’t have gotten mad like that.”

“It’s okay, mom. Sometimes getting mad is the right thing to do.”

She nods but now she just looks sad, not mad. Walter gathers his courage.

“Mom, what do you think happened? Is this Hannibal guy is controlling dad somehow?”

She shakes her head. “I think your dad has decided to go down a dark path, someplace we can’t follow him.”

Walter frowns, thinking about Anakin going to the dark side, leaving Padme behind. “Why would he do that?”

“Well, it’s kind of a long story,” she says, hesitating.

“Like the story about him going to a mental hospital?” He hasn’t pressed her about that, since she’s been so tired and sore.

“It’s actually the same story. And probably best that you know it. Come on, let’s go make some hot chocolate, and I’ll try to explain.”

His mom’s hot chocolate is the old fashioned kind, with the ingredients whisked together and warmed up on the stove. It takes longer than the instant powdered kind Tommy’s mom makes in the microwave sometimes, but it tastes better. And the tiny marshmallows she adds are better than the dried-out kind. Finally they’re both seated at the kitchen table, mugs in hand. 

“How much do you know, about why Will is so important to the FBI? About why Agent Crawford was so determined to take him?” asks his mom.

Walter frowns, “Agent Crawford told me he was special, but he didn’t say why. I figured he was just really smart.”

“He is really smart, but it’s more than that. You dad has a very strong sense of empathy, which means he can sense what people are feeling. When he tries hard, it’s almost like he becomes the other person.”

Walter tries to imagine what that would be like. “Wouldn’t that be confusing?”

His mom sighes. “Yes, exactly, Will’s great at catching criminals, because he can look at a crime scene, and use the evidence to figure out what the bad guy was thinking. And then the F.B.I. can use those clues to chase him down. The problem was that sometimes Will gets lost in his head. Those feelings follow him around, and get into his dreams.”

“And that’s why he killed someone? Because he had bad guys in his head?”

“No, it gets even more complicated. Will made this friend, who helped him a lot. Who was like an anchor for him. He trusted this friend more than anyone.”

He could guess where this was going. “And it turned out this friend was a bad guy?”

“Yes. His friend is Hannibal Lecter. And Hannibal betrayed him in the worst way. Your dad never told me the details, but I already knew a lot from the news.”

She explains then about how Will figured out that Hannibal was a bad guy, but no one believed him. And how Hannibal framed Will for murders he didn’t commit, and that was why he was put in a mental hospital.

“So Will didn’t kill anyone?”

“He did kill two men, but in one case he was stopping the man from killing someone else, and in the other case he was defending himself. But he didn’t commit the murders that got him put in the hospital.”

“And then what happened?” he asks.

“Eventually the truth came out, and Will helped catch Hannibal and get him locked up in a mental hospital. He decided he had enough of the FBI and took a job teaching at the university. Which is how we met.”

Walter nods. He knows that story, about how his mom had to take Sadie with her to the office. Their old golden retriever had to have her medicine regularly, and since her arthritis meant that she spent most of the day lying on her dog bed, the provost had said it was okay for his mom to bring her in. When Will had come into the office to discuss his teaching schedule, he’d immediately spotted the dog and made friends. Which led his mom to suggesting they eat lunch together. The rest was history.

Walter thinks about how Will acted as his mom’s boyfriend, and then husband. And as Walter’s father. “Did dad use this empathy thing with us?”

His mom shakes her head. “Not on purpose. He told me he wanted to try to figure out what he was really feeling, instead of what people around him felt. But sometimes he couldn’t turn it off. He told me once that it helped, when he empathized with us. I think he hasn’t had much experience being around happy people.”

“So why would he leave us? And go with Hannibal?”

Her face scrunches up. “Even though Hannibal hurt him so terribly, they still had a connection. Will helped capture him, and lock him up, but he still couldn’t change the fact that Hannibal had been his friend. His best friend.”

“Like Professor X, and Magneto?”

“Yes, exactly like that. I’m not sure exactly what happened, but I know that Hannibal still wanted to be friends with Will. And resented his family. It was Hannibal who sent Francis Dohlarhyde to our house. And then it looks like Hannibal and Will killed him together. Will might have felt like he couldn’t come home after that.”

“Because they would have locked him up again?”

“Maybe. Or maybe he was worried that Hannibal would try to hurt us again.”

Walter thought this over. “Even if Hannibal was locked up, he still might do that. Send someone to hurt us, I mean. Since he did it once before. And dad couldn’t just kill him instead, because they’re still friends.”

His mom smiles a crooked smile. “That makes as much sense as anything,” she says.

“Dad made a promise to me, right before he left. It was a serious promise. He said he would do whatever it takes to keep you and me safe. I think he’s still keeping that promise.”

“I think so too, honey,” she says.

“He also made me promise him something. He made me promise to always remember that I’m a great kid, and that no matter what happened, everything would be okay.”

His mom’s eyes are watering, but her smile is bright, and she looks much better than she had before Jack Crawford stopped by.

“He’s right. You are a great kid. And everything will be okay. Now, drink up your hot cocoa and get ready for bed. We have a long day tomorrow. We’re going home.”

He likes the sound of that.

* * *

It’s scary at first, being back in their cabin at night. Walter can’t help but remember the frantic chase through the dark. But the dogs help a lot, especially Winston, who sticks to Walter like glue. Walter gives him lots of attention, and lets him sleep on his bed. When Walter wakes up from a nightmare, it’s reassuring to reach over and feel the soft fur of a peacefully sleeping dog. He wonders if Winston stays with him because he realizes that Will isn’t coming back, or if he just senses that Walter really needs him right now. Either way, he’s grateful.

Going back to school is weird, mostly because not much has changed. He catches up quickly on his missed schoolwork - that part has always been easy for him - and his classmates continue to mostly ignore him. Tommy is his only real friend, bonding together because they are both oddball nerds. It’s annoying that Tommy keeps wanting to talk about Will and Hannibal, and to show Walter more articles, but Walter just says he’s not allowed to say anything and that what’s written in the paper is wrong. Tommy finally gives up, and they go back to hanging out and playing _Magic: The Gathering._

Slowly things go back to normal. Christmas is hard, especially when it comes time to get a tree. For the last two Christmases the three of them drove to a tree farm to cut their own, but his mom isn’t up for it this year, so they buy one from the lot at the local Methodist church. Walter keeps an eye on the mail - he thinks maybe his dad might send a card or something - but by the time the ball drops on New Year’s Eve he’s resigned himself to the fact that Will is really gone from his life for good.

At least he thinks he’s resigned, but as the year crawls forward into the deep freeze of February, his twelfth birthday approaches, and he starts to wonder. For only the third time in his life he can celebrate on his actual birth date - February 29th - and he thinks maybe, just maybe, Will might contact him. Might send a present, or a card. But Saturday comes and goes, followed by Sunday, and there won’t be another mail delivery before his birthday on Monday.

“Do you want to bring cupcakes for the class tomorrow?” his mom asks. 

“Yeah, Mrs. Maxwell already said it was okay.” He doesn’t want a party, mainly because he doesn’t want to deal with the stress of wondering if anyone but Tommy would show up. But everyone likes having a cupcake break at school, and it will be nice having the class sing Happy Birthday to him.

He’s licking chocolate batter off the mixing spoon when there’s a knock at the door. His mom freezes, and hurries to the door to look through the peephole. Walter glances over to the gun cabinet his mom bought last year, after Will left. It has a four button quick release lock, and Walter knows the combination. His mom taught him right after he got his youth gun safety certification. But before he can go to the cabinet, she opens the door.

“Agent Santos, Agent McGee. How can I help you?”

Walter sees two of the agents who guarded them when they were at the safe house. Carla Santos is a tall woman with dark hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, while Terry McGee is three inches shorter than his partner, and twice as wide, with a grey crew cut. They both have solemn expressions.

“May we come in, ma’am? We have some bad news,” said Agent Santos.

At first Walter thought that Will must be dead, and that gives him a weird twinge of happiness, since that would explain why Will didn’t send him anything for his birthday. But it turns out that Will’s been hiding out in the Caribbean with Hannibal, until some famous director had recognized them, so they killed him, and another guy. Then they sent photos of the crime scene to Freddie Lounds, so it’s all over the news. Walter gets his tablet and finds a photo of Hannibal and Will together. It was clearly a selfie. The Hannibal guy looks happy and relaxed, while Will looks . .dangerous. Walter remembers how in the hospital Will’s face had shifted when Walter told him he should kill the Tooth Fairy. That’s the same face that’s in this selfie. Maybe that’s been Will’s real face all along.

“They’re on the run now, and we’re hot on their tails. Which makes them unpredictable. We’d like to move you two to a safe house.”

His mom shakes her head. “No, no safe house. Not again. They’re not coming here. There’s no reason for them to come here. There’s nothing they need, and they have no reason to hurt us. I’m not turning our lives upside down on a whim.”

“At least let us set a guard. Someone to watch in the night, and to make sure Walter gets to school safely, and that you make it to work. For a couple of weeks, at least.”

His mom reluctantly agrees and the agents go outside to set a watch.

The cupcakes have long since cooled and she begins to frost them. “Do you want to put on the sprinkles?” she asks, her voice determinedly cheerful.

“Mom...it’s okay. I always knew he wasn’t coming back. This makes it easier, in a way.”

She keeps on frosting. “I know what you mean. Even though I knew he wasn’t going to come back, until now it was at least theoretically possible. But now the only way he comes back is in handcuffs.”

Or a coffin, Walter does not say aloud. He just shakes the multi-colored sprinkles onto the cupcakes.

That night he has a hard time getting to sleep. He snuggles next to Winston and watches the digital clock on his dresser slowly flip through the numbers. When it clicks pass midnight, he whispers to Winston, “Happy birthday to me.” Winston just licks his nose, which makes him laugh. Finally he settles into sleep.

The next morning Agent Santos drives him to school. It’s more comfortable than taking the bus at least. He balances the cupcake carrier on his lap. The long, flat plastic container is just big enough for twenty-four cupcakes, one for each member of his class. Hopefully someone will be absent so he can offer Mrs.Maxwell one too.

Instead of just dropping him off in front, Agent Santos parks the car in the visitors space and walks him inside. By the time they get to the front door, the bulk of the kids have gone inside, but there are still a few stragglers, plus the parents who’ve just finished dropping off their kids. Everyone looks at them. 

Agent Santos seems oblivious to the stares. “I’ll just have a word with the office about being careful about screening visitors. I’ll be out front by 3:10. Okay?”

He nods and hurries off. When he gets to his classroom, everyone is chattering louder than normal. Then when he walks in, they all fall silent. It’s really creepy, like in a scary movie about pod people. He gives the cupcakes to Mrs. Maxwell and hurries to his seat.

As the day goes by, he feels like the invisible boy. Except he knows the other kids can see him because they stop talking when he gets near on the playground during recess or when he gets up to sharpen his pencil. At lunchtime he sits next to Tommy like he usually does, but Tommy keeps his head down and eats his peanut butter and jelly sandwich without saying a word. Walter feels like he’s trapped in a nightmare, like there’s some pulsing danger just out of sight. His skin buzzes with it, and he focuses on thinking about nothing at all. 

Finally the afternoon snack break arrives, and Mrs. Maxwell invites him to pass out the cupcakes. He goes to put one on Susie Abernathy’s desk, up at the front.

“No thank you,” she says loudly, not looking at him. 

He hesitates, but moves on to the next desk.

“No thank you,” Johnny Adams says, and now the whole class is whispering, 

Someone says “cannibal cupcakes” and a sick feeling twists in his stomach. He wants to run, but instead he just keeps walking past desk after desk, cupcake holder balanced on one arm, and each student he passes says an overly polite “no thank you.” He finally gets to Tommy’s seat. Tommy’s face is red and scrunched, and he looks down at his desk. Walter just walks past without waiting for him to say anything, and Tommy heaves a sigh in relief. Finally Walter reaches the last desk, with all twenty-four cupcakes still untouched. He sure isn’t going to be able to eat one. He takes the container back to Mrs. Maxwell.

She looks uncertain. Walter can sympathize - it’s not like she can make the kids eat his cannibal cupcakes. They had been perfectly polite, at least to his face, so she can’t punish them for rudeness. Walter’s sure they hadn’t covered this in teacher training.

On impulse, he offers the cupcakes to her. “Do you want one, Mrs. Maxwell? I have extra.” He almost laughs at his own joke, but stops himself. If he started laughing, he’s not sure what would come out.

She takes a deep breath and takes one. “Yes, thank you Walter. They look delicious. And then maybe you could take the rest to the front office to share with the staff? I’ll write you a pass.”

A flush of relief overwhelms him, and tears gather in his eyes. He nods and fumbles to put the lid on the container. He finally gets it fastened by the time she finishes her note.

On the way to the office, he passes the empty cafeteria. On impulse he runs in and drops the whole cupcake carrier into one of the big barrels where kids dump their lunch trash. He’s tempted to slip out the side door, but his coat is back in the classroom and it’s still below freezing outside. He uses his pass to go to the nurse’s office instead.

He convinces her that he has a stomach ache, which is true enough. She lets him lie down while she calls his mom. After explaining the situation, she passes the phone to Walter.

“Honey, are you okay? Do you need me to come right now?” his mom asks anxiously.

“No, it’s just a stomach ache, and the school day is almost done. Agent Santos should be here soon; she can take me home.” He knows his mom used up all her leave recovering from the gunshot wound.

“Okay, if you are sure. I’ll come straight home after work. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Luckily Agent Santos arrives early, so they’re able to leave before the bell. Someone in the office had fetched his coat and backpack. He has to stop himself from running as they leave the building. Maybe prisoners feel like this, when they’re released from jail. Or from a mental hospital.

Now that he’s escaped, he’s not going back. Not ever. No matter what, he’s not walking into that classroom again. Even if he has to run off to the Caribbean himself.

Agent Santos takes his unwillingness to talk in stride, so they drive home in silence. The dogs are very excited to see them, racing back and forth in their fenced-in run. They probably spent the whole day sleeping in their heated shelter. They swirl around him happily when he lets them out, and Winston bumps his face against his hand. Walter obediently kneels to pet him, and then buries his face in reddish brown ruff, hugging the dog tight. Winston gives a grunt but sits patiently through the hug. 

“It’s so good to see you, boy. It’s been a really bad day.”

He decides to take a short walk down the trail with the dogs. Agent Santos is less than excited by the idea, but when his mom’s snow boots turn out to fit her well enough, she reluctantly agrees. The spring melt is still a couple weeks away, so the snow crunches crisply as they set out. They don’t go too far; the smaller dogs would get too tired out slogging through the snow, but it’s enough to take the edge off the dogs’ energy, and to help clear Walter’s head.

His determination to never return to school is still firm, so he powers up his tablet and starts researching home schooling requirements. A few of the boys in his scouting troop are home-schooled, and they don’t seem any worse for it. 

By the time his mom gets home, his arguments are all lined up. He starts by telling her what happened with the cupcakes, and the reason for his stomach ache. Her jaw clenches. The last time he saw her look like that, she was yelling at Jack Crawford.

“I’m sorry about throwing them all away,” he says, when she doesn’t speak. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

Her face cracks. “Oh baby, don’t worry about that, not for a minute.” She gathers him in her arms, hugging him tight, her hand protectively curled around his head. He sinks into the hug, just letting himself feel safe for a little while.

“I’ll go to the school tomorrow,” she whispers fiercely into his hair. “We’ll get this set right. None of this is your fault, Walter. None of it.”

“That won’t work, mom. It would probably makes things worse. You know that.”

She doesn’t say anything, which means she can’t argue. Here’s his chance.

“I want to switch to homeschooling,” he says firmly. “I’ve looked it up, and I think it will work.”

She pulls her head back, to look him in the eye. “Honey, it’s not a good idea to run away from your problems.”

He knew she was going to say that. “It is if your problems are big enough. There’s a reason we didn’t stay and fight the Tooth Fairy.”

She winces, and he knows he scored a hit.

“Plus, it will be a chance to study at my own pace, and learn things that I can't at school. I’ll have time for stuff like astronomy, and paleontology.” Both were subjects that he’d enjoyed talking with Will about. From the skeptical look dawning in his mom’s eye, he might’ve gone a little too far in trying to make her feel guilty. He hurries on.

“And there are all these great online programs for homeschoolers, with real teachers. It makes it easy.”

She frowns at that. “I don’t like the idea of you home alone all day,” she says, looking out the window into the dark, where Agent McGee is keeping watch on the porch next to the space heater. He had told them that they’d be sticking around for at least a couple of weeks. But of course both his mom and Walter knew the FBI couldn’t stay here forever. 

“That’s the best part. I can come with you to work, and study in the university library. You know they won’t mind as long as I don’t disturb the other students. And I am twelve, now, you know,” he says pointedly. 

She makes a complicated face, which probably means she knows she’s being played, but it’s still working.

“I’ll think about it,” she finally says. “You can stay home tomorrow, and I’ll go talk with your teacher, and the principal, and see what they think. Okay?”

It’s the best he’s going to get tonight. “Okay,” he says firmly. 

When he wakes up in the morning, it’s to the glorious relief that he won’t have to go to school. He gets up anyway, and gets dressed and feeds the dogs. He wants to show his mom how responsible he could be. His mom makes an appointment with the school for later that morning before she leaves. He spends the morning on his tablet doing more research, Winston keeps him company on the bed, with the other dogs snoozing on the floor around them. His list of the benefits of homeschooling grows, and finally he’s ready to respond to any argument his mom might make. 

In the end, it’s not necessary. His mom comes home for lunch, a weird expression on her face. Walter can’t figure out if it’s good news or bad news

“I talked with your teacher and the principal,” she says. “And they think it’s a good idea for you to work remotely.”

Walter feels like he’d been running to break down a door only to have it open just before he slammed into it. “Really?”

She sighs. “Yes. It’ll take some time to get you officially enrolled as a homeschooler, but they’ve given you permission to do your regular class work from home, and to switch to an online fitness program for your gym class grade.”

Which is great news. Of course it is. Exactly what he wanted. He should be very happy.

“So they were glad I’m not coming back, then?” he says instead. 

“Oh honey, it has nothing to do with you. You’re a fantastic student, they both said so. Like I said, none of this is your fault.”

Right. And he knows whose fault it was. “It’s because of dad, isn’t it? They’re afraid he’ll show up at the school. Him and Hannibal.”

“Yeah, I’m afraid so. Not that I think anything would happen, but I can understand their fear.” Her face wrinkles up in distaste.

He takes a steadying breath. None of that matters, after all. He’s done with it. It’s time to move on. Instead he offers to show his mom the different online K-12 courses he’s researched, and the ones he thinks will work the best for him. She accepts the distraction eagerly.

Over the next two weeks he settles into a pleasant routine. He goes to the university with his mom and she sits him at a computer station before going to the provost’s office. Public school work first, and then he switches to his online classes.The double courseload took some arguing, but he handles it with no problem. He’s a little smug at the fact he’s well ahead of his old class, based on his online testing. Then lunch with his mother, and back to the library for some free study, which is usually spends reading. Sometimes he draws, or watches videos with his headphones on. 

When they get home, he puts on the exercise monitor that the school gave him and runs around with the dogs. He’s required to keep his heart rate up over 140 for at least three hours total a week, which is a lot more work then he ever had to do in gym class, but whatever. In the Spring, it’ll be easier when he can join a youth baseball team. His mom’s very happy to learn that he still wants to keep up with sports teams, and with boy scouts. It helps his mom worry less about him getting “proper social interactions.”

All in all, he’s happier now than he can ever remember, even counting the best times when Will was a part of the family. The temperatures rise above freezing and the snow starts to melt. The FBI agents are finally scheduled to go back to D.C. the next day, and Walter suggests they bake a pie in celebration.

“After all, tomorrow’s Pi Day,” he says. “My math teacher suggested that we should celebrate if we can.”

“Pie day?” his mom asks.

“Yeah, March 14th. Three point one four. Just like the numeric value for pi. You know, the mathematical constant that is the ratio of the circumference of a circle to its diameter? 3.14159265359. . .”

She laughs. “Okay, okay, I get it, math genius.”

He blushes. He’s not really a genius, but it’s easier to move ahead when he doesn’t have to wait for the rest of the class.

The next day they stop by the store for ingredients for both apple and pumpkin pies. It’s still light by the time they get home. Daylight savings is great. He lets the dogs out of their run while his mom takes the groceries inside. 

The dogs seem extra excited to see him, milling around him frantically. With the swirl of canine movement, it takes him a minute to realize what is wrong.

Winston is missing.

Walter knows immediately that they are not going to find his missing dog, but they try anyway. There’s a hole dug under dog run fence where a tuft of Winston’s hair is caught, but no tracks lead into the woods, so he had to have gone down the driveway towards the main road. They walk south along the road, calling for Winston until the light starts to fade, and then go back for the car. Then they slowly drive north with the passenger window down, with Walter alternating calls and whistles, scanning the edge of the woods for any sign of movement. He doesn’t say anything when they pass the place where his mom was shot, and neither does she. After five miles pass, he tells his mom to turn the car around. They try another five miles south of the road to their house before they finally give up.

“We can make some fliers,” says his mom after they get home. It’s soup and sandwiches for dinner, and Walter can barely choke it down. “Put them up in town, and at the vet’s office.”

Walter shakes his head. “It’s not worth it. He didn’t run away. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t leave me like that. He was taken. Will came back, and he took Winston.”

“We don’t know that,” says his mom as she clears the table. He just looks at her, and sees she doesn’t believe her own words.

Still, if they think Will Graham took Winston, then they should call the FBI. It’s the kind of clue Jack Crawford is looking for. But they just got rid of the FBI and Walter hates the idea of them coming back, so he doesn’t mention it. And neither does his mom.

As he gets back to his room, his grief over losing Winston hits him all over again. He could get one of the other dogs to sleep in his bed easy enough, but it wouldn’t be the same. Fuck Will Graham.

He feels uneasy about the cursing, even in his own mind, and then gets mad at himself. Because fuck Will Graham. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!!! The last is screamed into the pillow he’s hugging, his fury too hot to contain.

He could accept Will leaving, especially since it helped keep his mom safe. He could accept Will not contacting him for Christmas, or his birthday. He could even accept Will giving into his dark side and helping Hannibal kill people. It was sad and scary, and kind of ruined his social life, but it also seemed like something Will had little control over.

But he can’t accept Will coming back, not to see Walter, not to say he was sorry, but to steal Walter’s dog. Because Winston is Walter’s dog now, not Will’s. Will left him behind, left them both behind, and has no right coming back just to take Winston away from him. 

That’s when Walter decides he has another reason to not call the number Jack Crawford gave him. Because he doesn’t want to help the FBI find Will. He wants to do it himself.

The next day, during his free study period, he doesn’t read a book, or watch a video. Instead, he sets out to find out everything he can about Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter. He switches to incognito browsing and types out a website address he had promised his mom he would never visit.

www.tattlecrime.com


	3. Chapter 3

It takes Walter until the end of summer to read through all the online info about his dad and Dr. Lecter. Otherwise known as _murder husbands._ _  
_  
Ugh. Walter doesn’t know if the whole romance thing makes it better or worse that his dad ran off with a serial killer. Really, the murders are easier to understand than the romance.

Sort of. It’s also still hard to match up the guy who played with their dogs and taught Walter to fish with the monster who helped Hannibal the Cannibal butcher two men. But it’s clear Will was involved with the murders. The texts and photos published by Freddie Lounds prove that. Walter spends hours going through the leaked crime scene photos and reports, but still can’t make himself understand.

He has no trouble picturing killing someone who deserved it, and he’s happy Will helped kill the Tooth Fairy guy. But carving out hearts and eyes and putting them on display — just _ew_ . It’s kind of cool in a stomach-churning way, but not something he can imagine doing in a million years. If _he_ ever needed to kill someone, it would be a quick knife stroke, no messing around. Like his mom. She didn’t make international headlines. Just a short mention in a local paper about a domestic dispute.

But the really interesting thing about the Caribbean murders is the fact that Will and Hannibal left someone alive. The papers assume that was Will’s doing, since Hannibal never left witnesses to his murders. Not that Rose Simmons is a witness, exactly. She’d been drugged before the murders began, and woke up when the police arrived at the house. But still, it’s a break in the pattern that points to his dad’s influence. Doesn’t change the fact that she was now a widow, though.

Pouring over the crime scene photos, Walter pauses to imagine what’ll happen if he actually does catch up with Will. And Dr. Lecter. He doesn’t think Will would kill him. Or let Dr. Lecter kill him. Will made a promise to do everything to protect Walter, and despite everything Walter believes he’ll try to keep that promise. 

If he’s wrong, though, then Walter might end up getting carved to pieces just like Hannibal’s other victims. But he doesn’t have to decide now. First things first — find the two men. Then he can decide what to do with them. 

Winston is the key. Will might disguise himself, but it’s hard to disguise a dog. And there’s only so many ways Winston could be transported to wherever Hannibal and Will went after they left the Caribbean. Car, boat, or plane. The car would be hardest to trace, but would limit their range to the Americas. A boat was how they left the country before, and Will is a good sailor. But the range of a boat on Lake Champlain was even more limited than a car, and it’s doubtful they’d try to cross the Northern Atlantic in February. So if Will took Winston to any continent besides North or South America, then it would’ve likely been by plane.

Burlington has an international airport, but it seems risky for Will to test U.S. airport security so close to his former home. He would’ve wanted to get out of the country as quickly as possible first, which meant either a boat or car to Canada. According to google maps, it was less than an hour from their house to the border, and then only another two hours to the international airport in Quebec. Will and Winston could’ve left the country and gotten on a plane before Walter and his mom even knew Winston was missing.

According to the internet, there are three companies specializing in transporting pets that operated out of Quebec. All Walter needs to do is get copies of the paperwork for dogs transported from Quebec during the week after Winston disappeared. 

Luckily he’s planning on attending computer camp again that summer. It’s the first time he’s able to join the serious programmers, rather than getting stuck with the younger kids working on Minecraft mods or coding with Scratch. Almost all of the instructors are earnest young men who are determined to make sure everyone stays safe and has lots of fun, but there’s one person that Walter thinks might be able to help him. Jesse is one of the few female instructors, and she’s like a disgruntled cat stuck in a room full of puppies. She’s big in a way girl’s aren’t supposed to be, with a roll of fat hanging over her belt, but also strong. He’s seen her pick up a heavy box of equipment with barely a grunt. Her hair is purple this year, the short razor cut framing her round face. The chunky square-framed glasses do nothing to disguise the unimpressed look she gives him when he sits down beside her in the grass, his sack lunch in hand.

He ignores her and starts eating, watching the clumps of other kids chatting and goofing around the picnic tables. After spending all morning in a computer lab, the group had a lot of energy to work out. After lunch there would be more organized games, but for now the counselors were relaxing their relentless go-go-go attitude. 

“So why aren’t you sitting with your friends?” she asks, her tone making it clear that the question is more for her sake than his.

He shrugs. He gets along okay with the kids he’s been grouped with, none of whom seem aware of who his adopted dad is, but as a day camper he hasn’t formed the same bonds that the overnight campers have. They get to sleep in the university dorms while Walter and a handful of other local kids go home. 

“Why aren’t you sitting with your friends?” he asks instead.

“Because I need some alone time or I go nuts,” she says pointedly.

He ignores the hint. “How come you became a camp counselor? You don’t seem to like kids much.” 

“I like kids fine. Better than I like most people. And I became a camp counselor because the pay is steady and it looks good on my resume. Plus I get a recruitment bonus because they always need more female counselors.”

“What’s your job when camp is done?”

“I’m a college student,” she says. “I freelance code some when I have the time.”

“Freelance. . .does that mean hacking?” he asks carefully.

She rolls her eyes. “No. Freelance coding it just setting up websites and individualizing apps and stuff.”

He pauses to give her disgruntlement a chance to settle down. “But you could do hacking, right? If you wanted to.”

“Anyone who can code, understands operating systems, and knows the fundamentals of cybersecurity can hack,” she says dismissively. “Now finish up your lunch, it’s almost time for kickball.”

Walter bolts down the rest of his sandwich and hurries to join the others. The idea is planted. He can follow up later.

“Later” turned out to be Friday, when the afternoon activity involves piling into a beat-up yellow school bus and going to the movies. It’s a stupid cartoon film, and doesn’t even have good animation. It’s the only one they can all watch because some of the kids aren’t allowed to see PG-13 movies. Walter slips out during the opening credits to use the bathroom, and then heads for the video games in the theatre lobby instead of going back. He’s sitting in the fake jeep and shooting down rampaging dinosaurs when Jessie sits down beside him.

“Walter, you know damn well not to wander off unsupervised,” she says.

He gives her a quick smile before focusing back at the velociraptors. Of the councilors who knew him from past summers, she’s the only one who always remembers to call him Walter instead of Wally.

“Good thing you’re here, then. You wanna play?” He gestures with one hand to the stack of quarters on the dashboard. He came prepared today, knowing the movie was a dud.

She hesitates.

“Come on, I know you’d rather stab yourself in the eyes out than watch that stupid movie. Just tell them that you needed to give some one-on-one attention to that troubled Graham kid.”

She laughs at that. “Fine,” she says, grabbing four quarters and activating the passenger gun. She comes on line just in time to help him defeat the T-rex.

They play two more rounds before the quarter run out, with still thirty minutes left before the movie ends. He lets the silence stretch out.

“You’ve changed a lot since last year,” Jessie finally says. “That troubled kid remark wasn’t just a joke, was it? I’m not too good at it, but I’ll listen if you want to talk.”

He shrugs. “It’s been a rough year. My mom got shot. My dad ran off with the cannibal who arranged the shooting. My dog was stolen.”

“Shit,” she says, with feeling.

“Yeah, I love that dog,” he replies, making her laugh. “So. . . hypothetically, if I were to hire you for a grey-hat hacking job, how much would it cost?”

“Grey-hat, huh? Somebody’s been spending too much time on the web.”

“Jesse, I just want to find my dog. Will you help me? Please?” He gives her his best helpless look, ignoring her narrowed eyes.

“Explain.”

He tells her how Winston was taken to the international airport in Quebec, and how he needs the paperwork from the pet transport companies to figure out where he was shipped from there.

He waits for her to ask how he knows this, or what he’ll do with the information.

She shakes her head, and his heart sinks. ”No, you can’t hire me to hack into a bunch of international pet transport companies.”

He tries to think about how to change her mind, but her face is set. 

“ _However,_ ” she continues, “You can hire me to make a webpage. And if you do most of the coding yourself, that would give me some free time, which I might use to do some unauthorized poking around.”

“Oh, wow, thank you!” he says. He feels almost lightheaded with excitement.

She cuts him off. “Two hundred bucks. You write the program first, and upload it to shroudbox @r6qev along with an email address I can reach you. I’ll send you a paypal invoice, you pay me. I send you the final program and upload the documents to the shroud box. And we never had this conversation. Got it?”

Walter pins each item into his brain. $200. Shrouded box @r6qev. Program. Email. ”Got it.”

“Okay, kid. Let’s get back to the movie to see if Luka learned the value of friendship and made it home before the big concert started.”

* * *

The dummy program is kind of fun to write. He types out the text for the click box.

_Which Famous Serial Killer Are You?_

He figures go with what you know. He picks the eight possible results and works backward from there, assigning a weight to each quiz answer. He looks at other similar quizzes on the web and makes sure to vary his questions. For Hannibal’s final answer page, he includes the selfie photo of Hannibal and his dad. Anyone who’s answers indicate an interest in romance or soul mates would end up there.

When he finally is satisfied with his effort, he loads the file to the shrouded box and waits. The invoice for “web development” appears in his email the next day. He broaches the topic at breakfast.

“Mom, I’m working on this website, and I want to hire a professional to help polish it up. I’d like to use some of my birthday money for it.”

She reaches over to smooth his hair back from his face. “What sort of website?”

He looks down at his cereal. “It’s about serial killers.” He doesn’t have to look up to know her face has crumpled with worry.

“Oh honey, I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

He lifts his eyes to her, trying to look at innocent as possible. “Please, mom. It’s just something I need to work through. You can double check if before I publish it. I promise.”

She sighs. “Okay then.” 

He uses her credit card to pay the invoice, giving her the equivalent cash out of his stash, and then checks the shrouded box the next day. He stares with heart pounding when he sees a 11MB PDF file sitting there. There’s also a message.

_First two sets of information were simple to obtain. The third will be more difficult. Please check the attached file and let me know if you need further follow up._

The PDF file is a compilation of copies of the health certificate and travel documentation for dogs transported from Quebec the week of March 14th. Twenty-five pages with name, breed, weight, age, plus a picture. Most can be quickly eliminated, and Walter clicks rapidly through the document until he gets to page 19. The name given is _Argos_ and the age is a year off, but the picture could only be Winston. Someone named Leonard Woźniak has taken him to Barcelona.

Will and Hannibal (and Winston) are in Europe.

Walter stares at the photo of his dog. His best bet for getting Winston back would be to go to the FBI now. But it’s been months since Winston was taken; he’d have to explain why the didn’t contact the police sooner. And he’d have to explain how he got the files without giving up Jesse. Plus chances are it would all come to nothing. He’s sure Will has covered his tracks, and Europe’s a big place. Without narrowing down at least the country his information wouldn’t be particularly helpful.

Plus he still wants to do it himself. It would be at least six years before he could even try, but that would also give him six years to learn the skills he’d need to track Will down, and to deal with him when he found him.

It feels good to have a long-term project to focus on. He starts making a list.

* * *

“I’m not sure,” says his mom. “You’re awfully young. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

Walter remains adamant. “Weight training is supposed to be good for teens, as long as it’s done correctly. It can even help prevent future sports-related injuries. Won’t you at least talk to the gym owner?”

The worried look doesn’t leave his mom’s eyes, but she seems to understand that he’s not going to give up on this. Getting strong is an obvious need, if he’s going to face off with the _murder husbands._ Not that he plans to fight them, but just in case he’d like to at least have a chance of surviving. He’s already in okay shape, between conditioning for baseball and going on hikes with his scout troop. Not to mention keeping up with the dogs. But getting strong means weight training. 

She agrees to talk with his pediatrician first, and then the owner of the main gym in Colchester, their nearest town. The doctor reassures her of the benefits of properly supervised sessions, and emphasizes using the correct form. Then they both meet with the owner of the gym, a former Marine in his late thirties named Nate Calderon. 

“I’ve been thinking about starting a class for teens,” he says. “I could test it out on you. How old are you, then? Fourteen?”

Walter shrugs. “Almost thirteen, sir. I’m tall for my age.” He’s still three months away from his birthday — or three years and three months, depending on how you count the non-leap years — but he figures close enough.

“Still a bit small for the equipment. But I can put together a program with the free weights. Lower weight, higher number of repetitions. The key thing will be to use the right technique. So why are you doing this, Walt? Looking to build a six pack, pick up girls?”

Walter looks away uncomfortably. “No, just want to stay healthy.” And alive, he doesn’t say.

It’s hard at first, even starting with just the two-pound weights, but over time he increases the number of repetitions and the amount of weight, and can really feel the difference. As an added bonus, his swing speed increase and by Spring, he’s reliably hitting the baseball farther, including making two game-winning home runs.

By summer, Nate’s put together a boot camp for teens, which includes weight training along with calisthenics. Walter is invited to join for free, and is satisfied when he can keep up with even the fifteen and sixteen-year olds. But he doesn’t stop there, and continues to push himself.

One evening when his mom calls to say she’ll be late picking him up due to car trouble, Nate sits down to wait beside him on the bench outside the gym. 

“So Walter, I have a question. What your real reason for pushing yourself like this? Don’t get me wrong, you are doing great. But I can’t help but think there’s something else going on.”

Walter stares down the street at the non-existent traffic. “Like I said when we met, I want to stay healthy.”

At Nate’s raised eyebrows, he sighs and continues. “My dad left us, ran off with a dangerous man. It’s possible they might come back sometime. I want to have a chance of surviving.”

Nate’s troubled look tells him that he knew at least something about Will and Hannibal, and Walter braces himself for questions. He doesn’t get teased about it anymore, but sometimes folks’ curiosity gets the better of them.

But Nate just pats his shoulder. “I run a self-defense class, Tuesday nights. You and your mom should come sometime.”

Walter smiles his thanks. Not a bad idea. He’s going to need every advantage he can get..

* * *

“Bonjour, Monsieur Blodah! J'ai apporté des poisons pour vous,” Walter says as he walks up the path, holding up his latest catch.

The old man sitting on the weathered porch laughs. “Pas _des poisons_. Tu as _des poissons._ Lesquels ne sont pas empoisonnés, j'espère.”

Walter thanks the old man for his correction, agreeing that the fish are not poisoned, and follows him to the kitchen so he can properly store them in the fridge. He has been taking an online French course for almost a year now, but he needs more practice speaking. Mr. Blodah is one of the few remaining native French speakers living in the area, although there are also plenty of tourists from Quebec who visit Burlington he can chat with. But Walter prefers his Saturday visits with Mr. Blodah, who talks about working at the mill when he was a young man. It’s long since shut down, and his children have moved away, so he’s happy to spend a few hours a week helping Walter practice speaking French.

As they sit down at the kitchen table, Walter also practices active listening, using open body language and mirroring Mr. Blodah’s posture. He’s found a whole series of videos on how to get people to like you, and figures that skill will be just as important as language skills when searching for his dad in Europe. Dr. Du Maurier’s book talks about the importance of Hannibal’s “person suit,” which is kind of a gross thought, but Walter figures if a guy like Hannibal can learn to fool people into thinking he’s normal, then Walter should have no trouble mastering it.

Mr. Blodah, at least, enjoys his company.

* * *

Walter stows away the class syllabus and gets ready to leave with the rest of the students streaming out of the classroom.

“Do you want to start a study group?” asks the boy still seated next to him, peering through a curtain of blond hair. It’s longer than any haircut he’s seen on a boy before, and looks clean and shiny.

Walter doesn’t need a study group; the Biology 101 class seems like it will be very simple. But this sounds like a good way to practice his people skills.

“Sure!” he says with an easy smile, and offers his hand. “My name’s Walter.” 

“I’m Houston, like the city,” says the boy, smiling shyly. His hand is warm, and lingers a bit after they shake. “Which dorm are you in?”

“Oh, I’m not in a dorm. I live at home.”

Houston frowns. “I thought all freshmen were required to live on campus.”

“I’m not a freshman; I’m still in high school. I’m taking this course as a dual enrollment, for both high school and college credit.” 

Houston looks dismayed. “Oh, so how old are you?’ 

“Fifteen,” says Walter. “But I’m smart enough to contribute to a study group.”

“Yeah, I’m guessing you’re a genius,” says Houston ruefully. His posture shifts, and he gathers his hair back and twists it back into a knotted bun. “But I’m thinking it might not be a good idea. Sorry, kid.”

Walter watches with bemusement as Houston stands up to leave. The change in the other boy’s demeanor is startling. “Wait. . .were you hitting on me?”

Houston winces. “Yeah, sorry about that.”

Huh. “Don’t worry about it. It’s kind of flattering. See you next class, Houston.” He smiles to show no hard feelings.

“Wow, careful with those dimples, kid. You really are going to be a heartbreaker one day. See you next class.”

Hmm. Apparently at least one person thinks he’s attractive enough to date. Walter has no interest in romance, but it could be another valuable skill to learn. He makes plans to look up videos on how to flirt when he gets home.

* * *

His sixteenth birthday is also his literal fourth birthday, and he can’t help but thinking back to the previous February 29th, and his last day in public school. He decides to fuck it and hold a party at Dave and Buster’s. If folks don’t show up then too bad.

But between his fellow boy scouts, the baseball team and his friends from gym class, a big crowd shows up. He invites Tommy, too, even though they haven’t really spoken for a couple of years. His old friend stands at the entrance hunched over and clutching a gift bag, looking ready to bolt away from the boisterous crowd of other teenage boys. It makes Walter realize just how things have changed for the better over the last few years. For a moment, he wants to leave Tommy to wallow in his awkwardness as revenge for his supposed best friend abandoning him when things got tough.

But then he realizes that there’s no need, and he’s already gotten his best revenge by outgrowing the imbeciles in his old school.

“Tommy!” he calls out, and is rewarded with a smile of relief. “I’m so glad you could come!” 

He gives the smaller boy a quick bro-hug and smacks him on the shoulder. 

“You need to be on my team for laser tag,” he says. “We’re totally gonna win.”

Which they totally do. 

He holds on to the warm sense of satisfaction from the party as his mom helps him load the gifts in the car and then lets him drive them home, even though it’s snowing. He’ll be eligible to take his driving test in three months, and then there’s nothing that will stop him.

When they arrive home, there’s no birthday card waiting with a European postmark. He tells himself he’s not disappointed. At least there’s no tabloid story with a bizarre murder scene either.

* * *

There are no handy native German speakers to practice with near his home, but there is a German conversation group in Burlington that meets at the central library twice a month in the evenings. Most of the members are much older, even older than his mom, but there’s one other teen, Sara, who lingers to chat while he waits for is mom to pick him up after the meeting.

“I want to keep up my skills,” she says when he asks why she started coming to the group. She smiles and tucks her hair behind her ear. “We were stationed in Germany when I was little, and I went to a German school, so I got pretty fluent.” 

Her body is tilted towards him, and she’s making eye contact. A good sign, if those flirting videos are right. She’s pretty enough, with soft brown eyes and a nice smile. Smart, too. He should practice showing an interest.

“Is your dad still in the military?”

“My mom. She’s an instructor at the army school in Jericho. So how about you? Why’re you interested in speaking German?”

“I want to travel around Europe when I’m older, and German is a common second language there. I figure between English, French and German I should be able to get around most places.”

Sara looks impressed. “So you’re learning French, too? How long have you been studying?”

“I’ve been studying French for two years, and I’m getting pretty good, I think. German just six months. The vocabulary is easier than I thought it would be, but the grammar!”

“Im Ernst!” she says, smiling.

He smiles back at her. “Yeah, no kidding.” He lets silence fall for a minute, keeping eye contact.

She fiddles with her hair some more. “Um, so what school do you go to? I’m a senior at Colchester High.”

“Oh, cool! I live near Colchester. But I’m homeschooled. I guess I’m a senior, too, since I’m on schedule to graduate next June.”

No need to tell her that he’s only sixteen. He learned his lesson with Houston.

“Do you know what schools you’ll be applying to?” she asks.

“I’ve already been accepted to UVM. Early decision. My mom works in the provost office, so I’ll be getting a full ride.” In fact, he already has fifteen credits with them, from dual enrollment courses and summer classes. Add in AP credits, he’ll basically be starting university as a sophomore.

“So how about you?” he asks.

Turns out she’s applying to at least a dozen schools, including most of the Ivys. Amherst is her first choice, though. She’s also applying to UVM, and is kind enough to not say it’s her safety school.

By the time his mom picks him up, they’ve exchanged numbers and made plans to catch a movie on Saturday. He will have to confess his age eventually, he realizes, since his lack of a driver’s licence will soon become obvious. But he’ll wait until after that first date. Give her a chance to know the “real” him.

Sara takes the eventual age revelation in well. It probably helps that he’s taller than she is, with his latest growth spurt over the summer shooting him a half inch over six feet. She invites him to her senior prom, and his mom is so happy to be able to take their pictures. 

After the dance, Sara surprises him with a rented hotel room.

“I don’t want to go to Amherst as a virgin,” she explains. “I want my first time to be with someone I trust.”

That makes sense to him, and they fumble their way through things. Sex is definitely enjoyable, but not the all-encompassing holy grail some of his friends make it out to be. It’s a relief knowing he wasn’t going to be distracted from his self-appointed task by romance. 

* * *

Walter travels by bus to Washington D.C. He sits up carefully in the plush seat, trying not to wrinkle his suit and tie too much. He has his driver’s license now, but his mom insisted he isn’t ready for DC traffic. Looking out his window at the cars zooming past, he can’t disagree. However, once they exit the highway and cross into the city itself, the bus slows to a crawl, allowing Walter to take in the details of DC proper. He’s surprised that the shops and apartment buildings don’t look that different from downtown Burlington. He expected something grander. 

Then the bus arrives at Union Station and he follows his fellow passengers into the building. The wheels of the black suitcase pulled behind him rumble across the marble floors. He stops in the middle of the crowd to gaze up at the high arch of the decorated ceiling, glowing from the warmth of the July sun pouring through the sky lights. Now this place was something grand.

He’s tempted to grab something to eat, but his time is limited so he makes his way down to the Metro level. He already scoped out how to use the subway system before he left Vermont, but double checks his route anyway before buying his pass and boarding the subway.

The official records for the FBI are housed in a building located in the northeast part of the city, separate from the main FBI Headquarters and most other federal government buildings. He tries to walk confidently past the dilapidated row houses and seedy shops, feeling very much a target in his new suit, with black suitcase dragging behind him. But no one spares him more than a glance, and after a couple of blocks the shops turn into ugly square office buildings. An American flag marks the one he’s aiming for, and he climbs the steps with his suitcase in hand, ignoring the ramp to the side.

He gives his name to one of the security guards at the front desk. After verifying that his name is on the list, he’s guided through the screening process, removing his belt and emptying his pockets before going through the metal detector. He collects his things at the other end of the x-ray scanner and accepts the temporary badge, hanging it around his neck.

By the time he’s done, an unimpressed young black man in a suit very much like Walter’s is waiting for him.

“You can stash your suitcase with the guards. Put your phone and any other devices in there as well. You will not be allowed to bring any means of recording with you, not even paper and pencil. You have one hour to review the recordings. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Walter says automatically. He can’t blame the guy for being irritated at drawing this duty. Transcripts of most of the recordings of Hannibal Lecter had already been released to the public under FOIA, but a small number had been kept confidential, to protect the personal privacy of himself and his mother. Unfortunately for the FBI, that argument didn’t work when they were the ones asking to view the tapes.

“How did you get your mom to let you come down here by yourself?” asks the agent as they wait for the elevator.

“I’m starting college in the fall, so she understands I’m going to be more independent. Plus it would be hard for her to get off work, and she doesn’t really want to see the tapes anyway.”

It had actually been a long argument, but Walter had won out in the end due to pure stubbornness. He had his own money now, since Nate had hired him as a junior instructor at the gym to help with the younger kids. He could just travel to Washington DC without her permission. If she didn’t give authorization to let him view the FBI records, he would just have to try to make his case by asking at the mental hospital itself. 

That threat had been enough for her to sign the FBI waiver, although there were tears in her eyes.

“You’re growing up too fast, Walter. I never wanted to control you like my parents tried with me, but I’m afraid I’ve given you too much freedom.”

Mentally he’d shrugged. She might be right, but it was much too late to change things. Instead he gave her a hug and promised to be careful.

Walter’s memories are interrupted by the arrival of the elevator, and he follows the agent to a small windowless conference room on the sixth floor. There’s a laptop set up with headphones attached.

“The files are on the desktop,” says the agent after making Walter turn out his pockets and hand over his suit jacket. He pats the jacket down before handing it back. “I’ll be back in an hour.”

Walter hangs the jacket on the back of the chair and sits down in front of the open laptop and puts on the headphones. The first file is labeled Lecter-Graham_102315_1305-1316. He reaches for the mouse and clicks.

“ _I want you to help me, Dr. Lecter._ ” His dad’s voice is soft, conjoling. He tells Lecter that he feels more comfortable being less personal, but his tone calls him a liar. Maybe Walter is just imagining it, but Will’s voice sounds hungry for Hannibal’s company.

Hannibal on the tape actually sniffs at Will. _“I smell dogs, and pine and oil beneath that shaving lotion. It's something a child would select, isn't it? Is there a child in your life, Will?”_

Hannibal’s words are a punch to the gut. Because Walter did buy Will that shaving lotion, for the Father's day after Will married his mom. He’d been so proud of his first grown-up purchase. The sales clerk at the drugstore had to get the keys to unlock the case that held it. It cost him $40.

Did that purchase doom them all? Would Hannibal have made the connection to Will’s family if Walter had just bought him some new fishing gear instead? The tape continues on, the banter between the two men still sounding like flirting to Walter. Then Hannibal circles back.

 _“Are you a good father, Will?_ ”

Will doesn’t answer. Maybe he can’t answer. Walter can’t answer either. Will had been a good father, until he wasn’t. 

Hannibal is persuaded to take the file on the Tooth Fairy.

“ _Family values have declined over the last century_ ,” continues Hannibal, “ _But we still help our families when we can. You're family, Will_.”

Will leaves without answering. Without denying Hannibal’s claim. The stakes couldn’t be clearer. Two families to choose from, Molly and Walter vs Hannibal. And Will would eventually choose Hannibal. Walter clicks on the next file to better understand why.

This video file is a much shorter one.

“ _How is he choosing them_?” asks Will on the video.

“ _How did you choose yours? Ready-made wife and child to serve your needs. A stepson or daughter._ ”

Hannibal’s disdain for Will’s wife and child oozes from the video like a poisonous fog. Although Will makes no reaction that Walter can see, Hannibal quickly focuses on the idea of a son.

“ _A stepson absolves you of any biological blame. You know better than to breed. Can't pass on those terrible traits you fear the most_.”

So was Hannibal right, then? Is Walter just a stand-in for a biological son Will couldn’t risk having. Walter shakes his head to clear it. Doesn’t really matter why Will became his dad. He wants to know why he stopped.

The next video file is dated several days later - after the date Walter knows Hannibal had already contacted the Tooth Fairy. Will is sounding desperate now.

“ _There is a family out there who don't know he's coming. We could save them. Tell me who he is.”_

Hannibal’s reply is gentle but firm. “ _When you close your eyes, Will, is it your family you see_?”

Asshole. Giving Will the true answer clothed as a taunt.

“ _Do you know who they are_?”

“Yes.”

_“You're willing to let them die.”_

_“They're not my family, Will. And I'm not letting them die. You are.”_

They’re not my family. Walter is astonished to find those words bringing tears to his eyes. It is ridiculous, that he's upset the cannibal serial killer stalking his dad doesn’t see Walter as family. Doesn’t see Walter as anything at all except an obstacle to getting together with Will.

The next clip is very short.

“ _How's the wife_?” Hannibal’s voice is conversational. Like he’s some guy in the office asking after a co-worker’s spouse.

“ _How's my wife? She's lucky_.” Will’s voice is twisted, tortured.

“ _She survived the Great Red Dragon. Takes a pinch more than luck_.”

He sounds approving. Huh. Hannibal wasn’t angry that Walter and his mom survived, then. 

_“When you look at her now, what do you see?”_ continues Hannibal.

Will’s voice is still filled with anger and despair. _“You know what I see.”_

The video ends, and Walter sighs in frustration. Hannibal might know, but he doesn’t. What would change, in how Will saw his mom, after the attack? Walter remembers that Will gets into the heads of murderers, that was his job. If he was in the mind of the Tooth Fairy, and the Tooth Fairy was trying to kill Walter’s mom, then Will must’ve seen himself as the attacker.

Walter had always thought that one reason Will left to keep them safe from Hannibal. Was it also to keep them safe from him?

There’s just one video left. It opens with Hannibal speaking.

“ _Your family was on his itinerary. Safe now. You can go home again. If there's any point_.”

Hannibal’s voice is gentle and regretful. There's a long dramatic pause.

 _“Is there any point?”_

And there it is, the final pitch, Hannibal trying to pry Will away from them.

Will sounds defiant. “ _I like my life there._ ”

Hannibal presses on. “ _It won't be the same. You'll see it's not the same. The unspoken knowledge will live with you, like unwanted company in the house_.”

“ _Molly and I want it to be the same._ ”

It sounds weak to Walter. Hardly a defense at all. Hannibal seems to thinks so as well.

“ _Mutual assurances you try to exchange in the dark and in the day will pass through some refraction, making them miss their mark. When life becomes maddeningly polite…_ ”

Another dramatic pause. Seriously, this guy should’ve been in theater.

“ _...think about me. Think about me, Will, don't worry about me._ ”

Yeah, that sounds like reverse psychology. But apparently Will also can be a dramatic bitch, because he walks back and puts his hand to the glass separating the two, and looks straight into Hannibal’s eyes.

“ _You turned yourself in so I would always know where you are. You'd only do that if I rejected you. Good-bye._ ” Will turns and heads towards the door.

Oooo, good burn, Dad. Or was it? Does it mean that Will rejected Hannibal because he wanted to always know where Hannibal was? Walter is still puzzling it out when Hannibal fires one last shot, calling Will back into the room.

 _“Will. Was it good to see me?”_

Walter wishes he could see the expression on his dad’s face, but he’s too far from the glass. His voice sounds thoughtful.

“ _Good? No_.” And then he’s really gone.

Walter knows it wasn’t the last time the two men spoke before Hannibal’s escape. The transcript of their last meeting was part of the information released to the public once the inquiry was closed, and Walter had studied it carefully. Given the fact that shortly after that meeting Will had emptied his bank accounts, he might've been planning Hannibal's actual escape at the time (rather than the fake one the FBI had planned). But you couldn’t tell that from the transcript. Walter wishes he could see those tapes, too, and hear his dad’s voice as he asked for Hannibal’s help once again.

But he supposed it didn’t matter. While this exercise might be helpful in figuring out how to play things once he finds Will, it doesn’t help with the actual search. For that, he needs more information.

Good thing he has an appointment with Freddie Lounds in the morning.

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
